The demanding ring of the phone, any phone, makes me want to crawl into the depths of the corner between my bed and closet and hibernate until death overcomes me. Here are a few instances contributing to this aversion as of late:
1. Four nights a week and weekends I answer the phone delightfully at Tucson Chrysler Jeep. By the end of the week I have to restrain myself from vomiting as the scripted, "Thank you for calling Tucson Chrysler Jeep how may I direct your call?" spews itself out of my mouth. This week a man called. Unfortunately one cannot tell the intelligence quotient of an average man over the receiving line. I monotonously repeated my lines and he said, "Let me talk to Gerry." Alright Sir Demanding let me transfer you. Within a thirty second time frame, my phone rings, and Sir Demanding asks for Gerry again. The same scenario was repeated as I gauged my left eyeball out with a paperclip. The man gave me a twenty second window before calling back once more and stating, "Hey, I didn't want to talk to Jeremy. I got his Voicemail and it said that it was Jeremy's line not Gerry." Luckily, I have the average intelligence of a monkey and said with a sugary sweetness practically wetting my lips as I spoke, "Sir, we have two Jeremys at our dealership. To help distinguish between the two, the one you wish to speak with goes by Gerry. He simply says his name is Jeremy on his answering machine because that's his name." As I now was stabbing my right eye out of its socket with the stapler he said, "Well that that doesn't even make sense, you need to learn how to do your job lady." I really hope he gets hit by a bus.
2. I am in ardent need of someone to take over the duty of wrangling the horrid mess upon my head that some like to call hair. My sister-in-law gave me the number of the lady who does her hair. Desperately calling yesterday evening I dialed the number. After a few rings a man answered the phone. Freaking me out I just hung up the phone. For one, I thought no one was going to answer so it surprised me and my first impulse was just to hang up. And two, the man was Asian. My other thought was, I didn't call Old China Buffet, why would he be answering the phone. No harm, no foul right? So wrong. Almost instantaneously the number I called shows up on my phone. I ignore the call, how awkward of a conversation would that have been if I had answered? Then, oddly enough I get notification of a new voicemail. As I listen to the message and an Asian man, with an overwhelming accent and horrendous English says, "When you call, do not just hang up, say sorry wrong number, don't be a coward." Whatever man.
Actually, I don't just hate the phone, I hate everything this week. #supergrumpy #hashtag
